Forgive Us Our Tresspasses
by unperfectwolf
Summary: Gen, Father Macklepenny . oneshot . Two young men stand out from the crowd to Father Macklepenny.


**Forgive Us Our Trespasses  
By** unperfectwolf  
**Archive:** let me know first, yes?  
**Rated:** G  
**Warnings:** religious-y  
**Fandom, Pairing:** Boondock Saints, Gen: Father Macklepenny  
**Summary:** Two young men stand out from the crowd to Father Macklepenny.  
**Disclaimer:** not mine, never was mine, never will be mine. all is someone else's.  
**Word Count: **835  
**Authors Notes: **What I know of Catholicism is very scattered and extremely hole-y. I did, however, look into it some before I wrote this. My life has been made so much easier by blakmagjick, who gave me what she could remember from her childhood memories, mortifus for what he knows s from when he actually went to church, and Ron Ryan of Saint Brendan's Parish for giving me insight on Catholicism today and exactly what the media seems to forget when they portray it. First prayer used it the "Our Father" or the "Lord's Prayer". The last is the "Hail Mary".

**FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES**

"Our Father, who art in heaven,  
Hallowed be thy Name.  
Thy kingdom come.  
Thy will be done,  
On earth as it is in heaven.  
Give us this day our daily bread.  
And forgive us our trespasses,  
As we forgive those who trespass against us.  
And lead us not into temptation,  
But deliver us from evil.  
For thine is the kingdom,  
and the power,  
and the glory,  
for ever and ever  
Amen."

_Amen_.

Father Daniel Macklepenny let out a silent sigh as he finished the prayer. The Monsignor passed him on his way to the pulpit, thanking him as he got there. Daniel wasn't so sure he should be thanking him though, not from how nervous he felt.

This wasn't what he'd expected when he'd decided to accept the offer to take part in the St Patrick's Day Mass here in South Boston. He hadn't expected a welcome of open arms from them, but he'd expected more than cold, hard stares. It was, after all, St Patrick's Day. An Irish holiday, through and through.

He could remember when he was a young child – still in elementary school – listening to a young Irish boy talk about the holiday. It was day to celebrate, he knew, but until he listened to his classmate talk, he'd never realized to what extent the religious side of the celebration went.

As it stood, the steady, closed faces he could see made uncomfortable. At the church was a part of, he was a known figure, and he knew those who were a part of the parish. He knew the people behind the clasped hands and the people behind the quiet prayers.

Here, he knew no one.

In the back of the church he could see a pair of young men who stuck out more than the rest. They were wearing their rosaries, which was a start. He'd seen few, if any, people do that in his, albeit small amount of time as a Pastor. It was a jarring experience. He didn't know anyone did that.

As he sat down and listened to the Monsignor talk, he watched them. Instead of listening to the Monsignor, their heads were bent in prayer, both with hands upon their rosaries. It was most odd, though not something too far out of the ordinary.

What they did next, however, was.

They stood, even while the Monsignor continued to talk, and instead of leaving, which while not encouraged is something that many times could not be avoided, especially on a weekday, they walked towards the pulpit and the alter.

Both men were fairly nondescript, in black coats and jeans. One had darker hair than the other, but something in the way that they moved told him that these two were long used to being around each other. He could nearly see it, their connection.

He was shocked out of his thoughts when they split, one going to the right of the pulpit, the other to the left. He made stand, but was restrained.

"Don't be bothering them, now, Father. Let them be," he glanced at the speaker, a clergyman, incredulously.

The speaker continued though. "Understand that they'll do no harm, Father. Let them have their rituals of comfort in this strange land." The clergyman sat back in his chair, his eyes returning to the Monsignor, completely ignoring the pair as they knelt at the foot of Christ.

But he didn't understand at all. _Do no harm? They're approaching the alter! In the middle of mass! Forgive them Father, they know not what they do._ He glanced up, holding in the desire to cross himself.

They seemed to finish their prayers, whatever those may have been, because they leaned over and kissed the feet of Christ. It was unfathomable. What were they doing? Better yet, _why was everyone else letting them do it?_

But no one made a move to stop them as the dark haired one followed the other out. As they walked down, no one spared but a glance for them, a nod here or there, and then, at the back of the church, near the doors, he could see them stop.

"But there is another kind of evil, which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men!"

The Monsignor's words rang in his ears as the door closed behind them. His eyes didn't leave the spot where they had been.

He knew, somewhere deep inside of him, in the same place that he held faith that God was true, that what he preached was true, that he would see these men again, and they would not be indifferent.

They would be those who saw and did.

His hands settled on his rosary and his lips moved silently, though his eyes remained still.

"_Hail Mary,  
Full of Grace,  
The Lord is with thee.  
Blessed art thou among women,  
and blessed is the fruit  
of thy womb, Jesus.  
Holy Mary,  
Mother of God,  
pray for us sinners now,  
and at the hour of death._"


End file.
